


Blame & Guilt

by horselizard



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Come as Lube, Dubious Consent, Episode Related, Humor, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Season/Series 01, Threesome, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rewrite of "Confidence & Paranoia". Never has a throwaway comment in a chat about meta inspired such lengthy reams of cruel, cruel porn.</p><p>A mutated holo-virus brings two aspects of Rimmer's subconscious to hologrammatic life. The results are about as unpleasant as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/gifts).



> Fair warning: most of the nastiness is in Chapter 4, but then so is most of the fic.
> 
> Dub-con tag should possibly be a non-con tag, but it _is_ technically Rimmer doing these things to himself. It's always tricky to define when you're working with anthropomorphic personifications of characters' own subconsciouses.

“Os salva-vidas não bastam para os oitenta homens,” chimed the vidscreen.

“Oooh, now, I know this one,” Rimmer muttered, pacing up and down the sleeping quarters. “Is it the one about the wine being corked?”

“Rimmer,” Lister sighed from the corner of the room, “why do you _bother_?”

“Esta sopa é fria. Por favor, leve-a e traga-ma quente.”

“Pause!” Rimmer exclaimed irritably. “ _Because_ , miladdio, we are the sole surviving representatives of a vastly sophisticated species, which reached a rich and diverse evolutionary pinnacle over the course of countless milennia. We owe it to our millions of ancestors to keep human culture alive, and if all _you’re_ going to do is sit there polishing your space-bike, it looks like that duty falls to _me_.”

“And you’re going to do that by learning Portuguese?”

“Not _just_ Portuguese!” Rimmer snapped. “I’m working my way through. French last week, Portuguese this week, Ukrainian beginning on Sunday. I’ve got it all planned out in my Daily Goal Lists.”

“I can just picture the scene,” Lister deadpanned, resuming his polishing. “Aliens beam on board, thirsty for knowledge about this amazing new species known as ‘humans’. And you wow them by telling them in sixteen different languages that we don’t have enough lifebelts for eighty people.”

“Eh?”

“I mean, it’s very admirable and all that, Rimmer, but you can barely speak Esperanto. I don’t know how you think you’ll be ready for Ukrainian by Sunday.”

“ _Well!_ ” Rimmer replied, puffing out his chest in a manner Lister knew all too well. “ _Perhaps_ if I didn’t have to put up with some grotty little space-bum constantly butting in to my learning-time with vapid interjections, I might possibly have _got_ somewhere with Esperanto!”

“Rimmer...”

“I’ve barely had this vid on for ten minutes and already you’re dragging me in to pointless debates!”

“Okay, fine, put the vid back on...”

“You asked me why I bother? I don’t _know_ why I bother! This is _your_ culture I’m trying to preserve, you stupid livvie, and a fat lot of thanks it’s getting me! What’s the use in being the last human alive if all you’re going to do is sabotage me at every turn?”

“I never _asked_ to be the last human alive!” Lister yelled, unable to control himself any longer.

He instantly regretted it. Rimmer froze, his already-pasty face turning ashen.

Lister sighed. “This is what it’s about, isn’t it? You’re trying to make up for... for the accident.”

“Black card, Lister,” Rimmer growled, his face thunderous.

“I mean I know it’s difficult to deal with and all, smegging hell, I know that,” Lister ploughed on, “but... it just _happened_ , that’s all. It was one of those smegging stupid things that _happened_. Not everything has to be someone’s _fault_ , Rimmer. Not someone else’s, not yours.”

Rimmer’s lip twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Lister took it as a white card.

“Me and Chen, we used to have this theory,” Lister mused. “That there’s two people inside everyone, your Confidence, and your Paranoia. Two little voices in your head, one of them telling you you’re great, the other one telling you you’re useless.”

“White card,” Rimmer muttered with suspicion.

“But with you, Rimmer, it’s two _other_ voices seem to be shouting the loudest. The one telling you everything’s someone _else’s_ fault, and the one telling you everything’s _your_ fault.”

“Black card.”

“The people inside _your_ head, Rimmer, they’re not your Confidence and your Paranoia. They’re your Blame, and your Guilt.”

“Black smegging card!” Rimmer yelled, red-faced.

“Okay, okay,” Lister said meekly. “I’m sorry, Rimmer. I was just –”

“Well, don’t!”

“– trying to help,” Lister finished under his breath. “Fine, I’ll shut up. Put the vid back on.”

“Oh, what’s the use? I’m not going to be able to smegging well concentrate now that _you’ve_ got me so riled up,” Rimmer muttered, crossing his arms and slumping into a chair.

Lister rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. “Okay, fine. We’ll talk about something else. Look, maybe we’re just getting on each other’s nerves being so cramped up in here.”

“White card,” Rimmer said, raising an eyebrow in wry assent of the bleeding-obviousness of Lister’s statement.

“Maybe once you’ve disinfected the Officers’ Block and we can have a bit of a nosey around, it’ll take our minds off things.”

“You think?” Rimmer replied, frowning.

“Yeah. I... I know you’ll think it’s stupid, but... I wanted to go down to Krissie’s room. Remind meself of, y’know, better days.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Rimmer scoffed. Smart move, Lister congratulated himself; he’d guessed Rimmer would be cheered up by the opportunity to mock the one thing in life that was keeping him going. Even so, his tone sounded a bit off...

“I miss her, y’know. And, well, I never really knew what she thought of me. We weren’t going out for long enough to get to that point. But... it _is_ stupid, I know... maybe there’s something in her diary.”

“Lister, her diary’s _private_ ,” Rimmer exclaimed. “Would you really be so underhand and disrespectful as to go rifling through the diary of a dead woman? And what for, anyway? What difference would it make, what she’d said about you in her diary? She’s long gone, you idiot!”

“Well,” Lister told the floor, “if it was _bad_ , then... yeah, smeg knows it’d be hard to... to give up on her. But... if she _did_ feel something for me... maybe one day, you know... maybe there’d be a way.”

“Ohhhh, Listy,” Rimmer smirked. “Well, this is a dreadful shame. I did try _so_ hard to keep you sane. But no, looks like you’ve finally gone space-crazy.”

There it was again, that... false note in Rimmer’s manner. Lister groaned inwardly. Never mind Rimmer keeping _him_ sane. It was a job and a half to figure out what was going on in _Rimmer’s_ head, and try to keep it in some kind of equilibrium. “Whatever, man. You cope by learning Portuguese, I cope by keeping Krissie in my thoughts. When _are_ you disinfecting the Officers’ Block, anyway? Which of your precious Daily Goal Lists was it on?”

“Toda– ...Thursday’s,” Rimmer replied officiously. “It’s on next Thursday’s list. Right after ‘learn Korean’.”

“Smegging hell,” Lister groaned. “I’ll make sure I keep out of your way during Thursday’s ‘learning time’, then. Or we could be stuck up here all century.”

“Good to see that the last surviving member of a once-great species has got his priorities straight,” Rimmer snorted. “Tell you what, why don’t you get some practice in? Come on, that space-bike’s surely shiny enough by now.”

Once again, against all the odds, they had wrenched playful banter from the jaws of a nuclear-strength bust-up. As he steered the space-bike out of their quarters, Lister smiled to himself. Maybe he wasn't so bad at dealing with Rimmer after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Rimmer couldn’t sleep. This was, he reflected, unsurprising, given that Lister, tuckered out from a hard evening’s space-bike-bound slobbing-about, was snoring at a decibel level that really ought to come with a government health warning, and possibly also complimentary ear defenders.

It definitely, definitely didn’t have anything to do with... what he had done earlier.

He cursed Lister’s inane ramblings about little voices inside one’s head. Now he couldn’t frame the perfectly reasonable idea that guilt was keeping him awake without involuntarily picturing some stupid anthropomorphic personification tugging on his pyjama sleeve. Yes, one way or another it was Lister’s fault he couldn’t get to sleep, no doubt about it.

Why should he feel guilty, after all? He’d lied about disinfecting the Officers’ Block, that was all. Lister didn’t need to know he’d done it that morning. A bit of a rush job, admittedly, but he would never have had the time to complete the full Daily Goal List if he had followed _all_ the safety protocols. He wasn’t even sure how far they applied to dead crew members, anyway. After all, what was he supposed to be protecting himself against? Mutated holo-viruses? He scoffed at the thought.

Yes, all things considered, it was probably better if Lister _didn’t_ know the Officers’ Block was safe to visit. Not after the nonsense he had been spouting about that dreadful Kristine Kochanski. Oh, he’d laughed, but the boy really _might_ be going space-crazy. Who knew what effect it might have on him if he went down there?

And it was _definitely_ for the best if he didn’t go looking in her diary. Because _then_ he’d find out that she’d dreamed about him. No, of _course_ there was no need to feel guilty about getting the skutters to help him read it. It wasn’t as though he was being disrespectful; it was for Lister’s own protection. It didn’t do to let him build up false hopes.

No, best that Listy moved on. And, well, there wasn’t really anyone for him to move on _to_ , but... needs must, after all, and technically, if it came to it, he’d only be doing his duty...

Smeg.

Rimmer screwed up his eyes, trying to push the thought out of his head, and tried again. He’d told Lister Thursday. That was the thing to focus on. Maybe by Thursday he’d have managed to... distract him...

_Smeg._

With much irritable scrabbling, Rimmer turned over in his bunk, and thumped his face into the hologrammatic pillow. He _had_ to try and get some sleep.

For one thing, he was starting not to feel very well...


	3. Chapter 3

“Rimmer?”

Rimmer opened his eyes blearily, and instantly regretted it. The bright light of the sleeping quarters shot shards of pain into the back of his head.

“Whu?” he groaned, shutting his eyes again. The sharp pain receded, to be replaced by the sensation that his head was filled with cotton.

“Rimmer, are you all right?” Lister said insistently. “You... you don’t seem very well. Holly says there’s something wrong with your projection, but... he’s not sure what.”

Rimmer didn’t want to open his eyes again, but his other senses were gradually returning to him, and he slowly realised that he was drenched in sweat.

“Whu’happened?” he slurred, painfully lifting a hand to his forehead.

“You were... shouting in your sleep,” Lister replied, a little embarrassed. “And... and thrashing about, like.”

Rimmer’s eyes involuntarily shot wide open in alarm. The stabbing pain shot through his head again, and he groaned and covered them with his hand. Icy pangs of fear turned his stomach. What the smeg had he been shouting about?

“And you were hallucinating,” Lister continued uncertainly. “Only your hallucinations were... intangible.”

Rimmer’s pained grimace suddenly became a frown. He opened his fingers a crack, and squinted at Lister’s blurry form. “Intangible?”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “You had hallucinations, but they were intangible.”

Even with a head full of cottony fog, _this_ was something Rimmer could manage. He grasped it gratefully, an autopilot lifeline that could help him get back to himself. “What do you _mean_ , they were intangible?” he said, with as much of a sneer in his voice as he could muster. “Surely the _point_ of an hallucination is it’s intangible? And you’re telling me _I’m_ the one who’s ill.”

“Yeah, but...” Lister rubbed the back of his neck. “They weren’t just intangible. They were intangible, like how _you’re_ intangible.”

Slowly, Rimmer moved his hand away from his eyes. This time, he could just about bear to keep them open. He could even almost focus them for long enough to enjoy Lister’s bewildered expression. “You mean... I hallucinated hologrammatic projections? And they were real, they were really there?”

“Yeah,” Lister nodded emphatically. “First you hallucinated seventy-nine hologrammatic life-belts in our shower.”

Internally, Rimmer heaved a sigh of relief. _That_ was what he’d been dreaming, he remembered now. Lister must have heard him shouting at the Portuguese aliens. “And then?”

“And then... you hallucinated two men in the drive room.”


	4. Chapter 4

Rimmer still wasn’t feeling quite himself. Lister had gone down to the Hologram Projection Suite to try and help Holly with the diagnostics, leaving him alone with Blame and Guilt. He wished he hadn’t. True, he was in no fit state to be of any assistance. But he couldn’t take much more of this.

“ _Why_ did you have to go and do this to yourself, Arnold?” whined the scrawny, straggly-haired man in the drab, ill-fitting clothes. He couldn’t utter a word without wringing his hands, and the mannerism was starting to become extremely irritating. “Just _look_ how much worry you’re causing Lister and Holly!”

“Leave him alone, you stupid goit!” yelled his counterpart. Veins stood out on his ruddy forehead with the force of his shouting, and his eyes bulged. “He’s _ill_ , for smeg’s sake!”

Rimmer groaned, putting a hand to his head, and sank into one of the drive-room chairs.

“See?!” exclaimed Blame, his short, stocky, black-clad frame trembling with agitation. “You’re making it worse!”

Guilt shrank back, wide-eyed, from Blame’s accusation. “Oh, smeg, you’re right,” he moaned. “That’s just typical, isn’t it? That’s just what we always end up doing, he and I – whenever things are going badly, we always make them worse for ourselves...”

“Hey, hey, hey! You leave the Duke out of this!” Blame growled, advancing on Guilt until they were nose-to-chin. “If _you_ would only shut up, maybe he could get some peace!”

“Oh, why can’t you _both_ shut up?” Rimmer finally snapped. The two hallucinations paused briefly to frown at the interruption, then summarily ignored him.

It was Guilt who broke first. “Oh, god, what a mess this all is! If only you’d done the job _properly_ , Arnold...”

“How’s he supposed to manage, when everyone else just swans off and leaves him to do it on his own?”

“By ‘everyone else’ you mean Lister, I suppose,” Guilt mumbled sadly. “Well, can you really blame him?”

“Of _course_ he smegging well can, that's the _point_ ,” Rimmer muttered, not quite under his breath. Neither of them paid any attention.

“If I were Lister I probably wouldn’t want to hang around with him myself,” Guilt whined, warming to his theme. “Not after... not after the way he... smegged up his life!”

“Shut up!” Blame roared. “Don’t you _dare_! That wasn’t his fault!”

Rimmer looked up, stock-still in the chair, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Always the same old story, isn’t it? He does a rush job, he smegs things up for everyone. Why can’t he ever change?”

“That’s _not_ the story, you festering worm!” Blame screamed. “No-one ever gives him any help or any support – he has to muddle through everything on his own – because the callous bastards don’t give a smegging toss about him! _That’s_ the smegging story!”

Rimmer, by now, had gone quite white.

“Why _should_ they give a toss about him, eh?” Guilt wailed. “Why should they care about someone who’ll go through their dead ex-girlfriend’s diary?”

“Stop it,” Blame hissed.

“Someone who’ll lie to them, to try and keep them away from the only thing that matters to them any more?”

“Stop it!”

“And _what_ would he say if he found out – that it’s all because the poor, sick pervert’s _jealous_?”

“ _Black card!!_ ”

Rimmer, wild-eyed and staring, gradually became conscious of having leapt, in a blind fury, to his feet. His ears rang with the scream that had been ripped from him, the words that had escaped his lips before he even knew he was thinking them. The two hallucinations were rigid with shock.

In a brief moment of absurd calm, he reflected that it was rather a stupid thing to have said.

“Admit it,” Guilt said in a small voice. “You wouldn’t get so worked up about it if it wasn’t true. You’re worrying about it night and day, wishing it wasn’t in your nature... wishing you hadn’t turned out _wrong_...”

Rimmer turned to face the wretched anthropomorphic personification, his lips twitching, his eyes ablaze. Then, suddenly, his fierce expression crumpled. Slowly, he started nodding.

Blame leapt forward, aghast. “You’re not going to listen to _him_ , are you, Duke?” he exclaimed. “He’s a liar, a filthy stinking liar! It’s _not_ in your nature! You never had a... disgusting thought like that in your _life_ until you met that Scouse bastard!”

Rimmer clutched gratefully at the straw. “You’re right. He’s right! How do you account for _that_ , then – you and your stupid smegging incessant hand-wringing?” he hurled at the taller of the two hallucinations.

“Oh, Arnold, stop lying to yourself!” Guilt exclaimed sorrowfully. “You wouldn’t be feeling this way about him if you weren’t... like _that_.” He shuddered. “It’s hardly as though he’s leading you on!”

Rimmer crumpled again. “No, smegging hell, of course he isn’t... I can’t exactly claim that eating vindaloo for breakfast and just generally behaving like a _git_ are intended as a smegging mating ritual! Oh, hell, how on Io can I be finding _that_ attractive?!”

“Snap out of it, Ace!” Blame countered. “It’s obvious what’s going on here! Haven’t you noticed how nice he’s been being to you lately? Like yesterday, trying so hard to calm you down. What a _bastard!_ He’s doing it on purpose, trying to make you feel things for him – because he _knows_ you can’t do anything about it!”

“You mean...” Rimmer faltered. “You think he’s... he’s just _using_ me? Because I’m a hologram? Because I can’t touch anything?”

“Oh, no,” Guilt wailed, “what if he _means_ it? What if he likes you, and he can _never_ do a smegging thing about it, because you went and _died_? Oh, God, imagine that – imagine if you’d ki–”

“Shut it,” snapped Blame.

“– _both_ of the people he lo–”

“SHUT it!”

Rimmer’s face contorted. “It’d be just as well,” he groaned. “It’s just as well I’m a hologram. Or who knows what kind of depravity I’d be dragging the poor innocent goit into?”

“Innocent?!” Blame shouted. “Ha! No smegging way! He’s doing this on _purpose_ , Ace! He’s just the kind of filthy space-beatnik smegger that wouldn’t think twice about trying to _turn_ someone like you... for _fun_ , no less! You know what, I bet that bastard computer’s in on it too. I bet he brought you back just so that the goit could get his kicks messing with your head.”

Rimmer frowned as the thought percolated through his head. “You know what,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t put it past the computer-senile chump. That stuff about keeping Lister sane never quite rang true.”

“What a responsibility!” Guilt wailed to himself. “Every waking moment, I’m terrified you’re going to smeg it up...”

“In fact,” said Blame slyly, “since Holly controls your projection, how can you be sure he’s not messing with your head _himself_?”

Rimmer had never seen a more enticingly clutchablestraw in his life. “You mean... it might be _him_ making me feel these things?” he exclaimed.

“Oh, Arnold, why do you listen to him?” Guilt moaned. “You’re always letting him put these stupid ideas in your head – and then you go around accusing other people and making _them_ feel bad! Why can’t you just face facts? You’ve _always_ been like this! Oh, Mummy and Daddy would be so ashamed...”

“But I _haven’t_ always been like this!” Rimmer countered. “It’s only been these last few months. It doesn’t make sense!”

“No, Duke, it makes _perfect_ sense,” Blame grinned. “Face it, Guilt, I’m right. It’s Holly, he’s been messing about with Ace’s personality disk. And I can prove it.”

“Of course you can’t prove it! It’s not true!” Guilt exclaimed.

“Oh, yes, I can,” Blame replied. “Think about it. Holly hacks Ace’s projection to give him... perverted thoughts. But he knows there’s nothing he could _do_ about them. There’s nobody on board he could touch. So why would he bother altering his _physical_ responses?”

A look of fear crossed Guilt’s features. “But now there are two other holograms on board...”

“ _Male_ holograms,” Blame added.

“Oh, smeg,” Guilt groaned, “we’re in deep trouble.”

“I’m sorry, _what_ are you talking about now, exactly?” Rimmer asked, perplexed. The conversation had got quite beyond him. It really didn’t help his grasp of the situation when Blame suddenly turned to him, grabbed his arse with both hands, and pulled him close until they were groin-to-groin.

“There, now!” Blame said triumphantly. “Bet he’s not feeling a thing. Are you, Duke?”

Rimmer wished fervently that he wasn’t feeling a thing – in both senses. But it was the first external contact his erogenous zones had had in months – the first time _anyone_ had touched him, anywhere, since he’d been brought back. And though he was repulsed by the sudden attack from this heavy-handed, bull-headed little ma– _hallucination_... he was horrified to realise that his cock was above such superficial considerations. Was rising well above them, in fact.

“For smeg's sake,” he squeaked, pushing frantically at Blame's shoulders, “let me go!”

Guilt caught the look of stunned surprise in his counterpart's eyes, and groaned. “Oh, he's disgraced himself _again_ , hasn't he! God, I wish you hadn't had to be subjected to that...”

“No,” Blame sputtered, clinging defiantly to Rimmer's buttocks, “no, I'm right, you'll see! It's that smegging computer, it has to be – he's programmed this in just to fuck with his head! You're not _really_ enjoying it, are you, Duke?”

Rimmer shook his head fervently, a look of abject terror on his face. He had no idea how to get out of this one; he'd tried to struggle free of the hallucination's grip, but every movement he made had caused him to inadvertently rub his stiffening cock harder against Blame's groin.

“He's lying,” Guilt muttered in anguish, “he's loving it...”

“Shut your filthy goited hole!” Blame shot back furiously. “He's _not_ enjoying it – we'll break this smegging program soon enough – I bet Holly never bargained for _this!_ ”

Rimmer barely had time to panic at his words before he felt a hand on the back of his head, pulling it forcefully down to meet Blame's in a messy, violent kiss. The hallucination mashed his lips against Rimmer's, forcing them open, probing inside with his tongue; at one point, his teeth found purchase on Rimmer's bottom lip, and he nipped at it, provoking a gasp.

Rimmer had never been kissed like this before; in fact, he had hardly ever been kissed. On top of three million years of non-existence and eighteen months of complete intangibility, it was just too much. Overwhelmed by the sudden sensory stimulus of the warm hologrammatic body against him, the strong, blunt fingers gripping his head and arse, and the electrifying intensity of the kiss, he was starting to forget to care how utterly _wrong_ it all was. In his dazed state, he couldn't help noticing how soft and full Blame's lips were... the kind of lips one might, hypothetically, dream about.

“For God's sake, Arnold,” Guilt screamed, “stop leading him on!”

Startled, Rimmer broke the kiss, and turned to see that the scarlet-faced hallucination had both hands clamped over his groin. He glanced back at Blame, who was breaking out into a triumphant sneer.

“Hah!” he exclaimed. “ _Now_ who's enjoying it? You like a bit of a homoerotic display, do you, you filthy hypocrite? _You're_ the one who's perverted around here, not the Duke!”

“I'm a part of him!” Guilt wailed. “I'm enjoying it because _he_ is! And you must be, too! Oh God, he's corrupted us all...”

Rimmer suddenly realised what it was that had been beginning to push so insistently against his thigh. He pulled away in shock. Another man's erection pressing so close to his? The thought was... the thought was... unthinkable. That had to be why his brain was so captivated by it...

Blame stood there defiantly, hands on hips, half-hard cock standing proud. “It's not him. It's this smegging program. And since we're part of him, we're affected by it too. If we go far enough, we'll break it for sure!”

Guilt ignored him. “There's no denying it now – he's a pervert, an awful, incorrigible pervert! Oh, what are we going to do?”

“Fondling and snogging are all very well,” Blame mused, “ _anyone_ could do that, whatever their gender...”

“What if he makes a pass at Lister? The poor kid would be traumatised! Oh, God, what if he gets a real body one day and tries to jump him?!”

“There's only one thing for it...”

“There's only one thing for it...”

“...we'll have to go full-on homo until we hit the program's breaking point!”

“...it's our moral duty to get it out of his system before he inflicts his perversion on anyone else!”

Rimmer stared at the two frantic, wild-eyed, half-erect hallucinations in bewildered disgust. “You two,” he exclaimed, “are quite mad.”

The contemptuous sneer slowly faded from his lips as the hallucinations started to advance on him. Mad they might well be, but _he_ was the one for whom this spelt bad news.

“This is for your own good, Ace,” Blame murmured as he took hold of Rimmer's belt and started to undo it.

“I just don't want you to ruin Lister's life even more, Arnold,” Guilt sobbed, slipping open the buttons of his shirt.

Rimmer stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe what was happening. “What the smeg do you think you're doing?” he spluttered. “Stop it! This is ridiculous! You're completely messed up!”

But they didn't stop it, and finally Rimmer recovered himself enough to slap at Guilt's fumbling hands and start backing away. Unfortunately, he did this just as Blame managed to wrench open his fly and shove his trousers down to his knees. He stumbled, and landed heavily on his backside, staring up in terror at the two men looming over him. He tried to scramble away, but it was too late; Guilt flung himself on top of him, pinning him to the floor, and trapped him in his second unwanted passionate snog of the day.

“Mmmph!” Rimmer cried against Guilt's thin lips and long tongue, as he felt one slim-fingered hand tangling in his curls, and the other continuing to pluck determinedly at his shirt buttons. His cock, now no longer confined by his tight trousers, was waving enthusiastically in the air; he burned with shame, utterly horrified at the situation he was stuck in, but unable to stop his body from responding to the novelty of physical stimuli.

“That's no smegging good, you gimboid,” Blame yelled from somewhere behind Guilt, “ _anyone_ could go around snogging him! Get your cock involved, for smeg's sake!”

Guilt's cock, Rimmer could have told him, already _was_ involved, inasmuch as its betrousered length was pressing firmly against his stomach, and making him feel all kinds of strange things. But apparently this wasn't good enough, and when Guilt didn't deign to reply, Rimmer was mortified to feel thick fingers tugging at his boxers.

“Mmmph!” he spluttered again, struggling wildly, and trying to kick out at Blame. He quickly regretted it when the hallucination retaliated by grabbing his legs and sitting on top of them, leaving him completely helpless under the two men's combined weight.

“I _told_ you this is for your own good, Duke,” Blame shouted over his terrified whimpers. “If you're not going to cooperate, we're just going to have to do this the hard way.”

And within seconds, there he was, his boxers having joined his trousers round his ankles, his legs splayed open and his knees pinned to the floor, yelping and wriggling as Blame's saliva-slick fingers started toying with his arsehole.

“There's no _way_ Holly will have accounted for _this_ ,” he muttered in triumph, while Guilt broke the lip-lock to fumble with his own trousers. Rimmer used the opportunity to take a desperate swing at him, managing to catch him weakly on the chin, and Guilt gave a startled cry.

“Oh, dear,” the hallucination exclaimed mournfully, catching Rimmer's wrists, “don't tell me you're into sadism too! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I just can't accommodate that... oh, I _do_ hope that doesn't mean you go and take it out on other people later...! I'd feel so bad... How about if I hold you down instead? Would that spice things up enough for you?”

Rimmer snarled in frustration as Guilt pinned his arms above his head, one hand firmly wrapped around his crossed wrists. “No, it smegging well wouldn't!” was what he wanted to reply, but just at that moment, one blunt finger started pushing up inside him, and what came out instead was “Nyeeaaargh!”

It didn't help matters when Guilt finally managed to tug his own erection free of his trousers, push it against Rimmer's, and curl his long fingers round them to start masturbating them both.

“Finally!” Blame exclaimed, peering over Guilt's shoulder. “That ought to do it. It's the gayest thing I've ever seen. He'll be wilting in no time.” For good measure, he slipped a second finger up Rimmer's arse, and started thrusting his hand more firmly back and forth.

Unfortunately for Blame – and, in many ways, for Rimmer – he couldn't have been more wrong. Horrified as he was by the anal penetration, Rimmer couldn't deny that it was hitting some _very_ interesting areas. And as Guilt's fingers travelled up his cock to massage the head, his erection rubbing hard against the sensitive seam of his shaft, he suddenly found himself jerking and shuddering, semen spurting into the hallucination's hand, in what was possibly the most embarrassing orgasm of his life.

He lay there, helpless and humiliated, as the two hallucinations exchanged glances. Blame, tight-lipped, discreetly removed his fingers from Rimmer's arse, provoking an ashamed squeak.

“That was not supposed to happen,” he muttered darkly.

“That was very quick,” Guilt frowned, worried.

“It must have been your fault. _Anyone_ could jerk someone else off, even if another cock was in the way.”

“I hope he's satisfied. Maybe he's not satisfied. He _can't_ be satisfied yet...”

“I told you,” Blame growled, “to get your cock involved.”

Guilt looked down at his straining erection, sticky with splashes of Rimmer's come. “ _I'm_ not satisfied, and I'm part of him, so he _can't_ be satisfied...”

“Get off him, you modo,” Blame exclaimed, trying to ignore the throbbing in his own cock, “and let's do this _properly_.”

Rimmer felt too pathetic to even try and resist any more. Together, they were stronger than him; they were both completely mad, so it was unlikely that they'd leave him alone until they'd carried out their plan to the finish; and even his own body was betraying him, playing into their hands, happy to let them do whatever they wanted to him. He complied, docile, as Blame tugged him up onto his hands and knees.

“Stay strong, Duke,” he pep-talked into his face, his eyes wide and earnest. “Not much longer now. You just have to hold out until we manage to break that program. And then you'll never be bothered by these filthy thoughts again! Oh, imagine Holly's face when he finds out what we've done...”

Rimmer shut his eyes and groaned. He could imagine it all too well. He only hoped that Holly was too deeply engaged in trying to fix his corrupted projection to pay attention to exactly _what_ was being projected in the middle of the drive room.

Guilt had caught on; at a nod from Blame, he settled himself on his knees behind Rimmer, and started rubbing the hologrammatic come from his hand onto his long, thin erection. He clutched Rimmer's hips, and Rimmer whimpered as he felt the stiff, slippery cock pressing between his cheeks, but still he didn't resist.

“I hope I don't hurt you,” Guilt babbled, “I'll try not to, I'll try really hard – I'm sorry if it hurts, I'm really sorry!”

He slid home, and Rimmer yelped as pain shot through the tight ring of his anus (“I'm so sorry!” Guilt wept). Then the pain subsided into a dull ache, more than outweighed by the astonishingly _pleasurable_ feeling of fullness that radiated through him. Guilt started to thrust, slowly, gently, and Rimmer moaned as the ridges of his cock hit nerve endings he hadn't even known he had.

Blame had been keeping a close eye on proceedings, and he watched in disbelief as Rimmer's cock started to firm again. “What?!” he exclaimed. “How the _smeg_ can you be getting a stiffie with a cock up your arse?” He fixed Guilt with a glare. “You must be doing it wrong, you nancy bastard! Why the hell did I trust _you_ to do this?”

“Oh, good heavens, he's insatiable,” Guilt wailed. “What if it's still not out of his system after all this? Oh, I can't manage on my own – oh, I'm hopeless – Blame, _do_ something!”

“I'll smegging do something all right,” Blame muttered, fumbling with his fly, and pulling his own cock out. It wobbled in the air in front of Rimmer's nose, short and stocky like the hallucination himself, but what it lacked in length it more than made up for in girth. It was oddly hypnotic, and as he stared at it, the edges of his mind fuzzy with the feelings of pleasure flowing through him from Guilt's thrusting, he realised with a start that he had seen it before, or something very like it; it was almost how he'd imagined Lister's cock in treacherous, deeply-buried dreams.

“This has _got_ to do it,” Blame exclaimed, as he grabbed Rimmer's hair, holding his head still, and shoved his full length into his mouth. Rimmer choked as the head hit the back of his throat, and his eyes watered; then, as Blame pulled back a little, he was able to focus on the strange new sensation. The cock filling his mouth was hologrammatic, so it didn't taste of much, but he couldn't help imagining a hint of spice. With difficulty, he pushed his constricted tongue against the bumps and veins as Blame slid in and out, exploring the texture, the intriguing stiffness of the smooth flesh. Dark curls tickled his nose; tentatively, shamefully, he concluded that he _liked_ all this.

He groaned around Blame's erection as he was jostled back and forth between them, powerless, unresisting, and, heaven help him, painfully aroused. He couldn't believe what he'd managed to hallucinate himself into; even less could he believe that he was actually _enjoying_ it, stuck there on all fours with his mouth and his arsehole stuffed full of cock. Guilt's thin fingers dug into his bony hips, hard enough to bruise, while Blame's hand was anchored deep in his curls, bringing tears to his eyes every time the jostling resulted in an inadvertent tug. He gagged on the thick cock in his mouth, silenced by it, entirely subject to its whims; at the other end, Guilt's rhythmic thrusts were getting faster and faster, driving him to distraction with the way he kept hitting... _something_. It was all utterly, utterly wrong. And yet it felt so good...

“Have we... done it... yet?” Blame panted as he thrust into Rimmer's mouth.

Rimmer choked as he felt Guilt's fingers brush against what was, by now, an insistent and raging stiffie. “He's... still hard...” Guilt blurted out. “Can't... go much longer... _have_ to... satisfy him!”

“Bugger... that,” Blame puffed. _He IS, you fool_ , Rimmer thought automatically – his instinct for sarcasm being so deeply ingrained that it was still operative even in the throes of sexual pleasure – and then felt mildly annoyed that he was unable to speak.

“Just... one chance... left...” Blame stuttered out, as Guilt, rapidly losing control, started to moan. Rimmer had no idea what he was blathering about, but confusedly found he quite wanted Guilt to touch his erection again.

Then Guilt tensed up, clutching his hips for dear life, and started to shudder. Rimmer suddenly became aware of a strange, warm sensation deep inside him; he was just beginning to suspect, with dawning horror, that he knew what it was, when all at once his mouth was filled with thick, salty fluid. He choked and spluttered in alarm as it hit the back of his throat, sending it spurting out over his chin; droplets of it flew into the air and fizzled away into nothingness.

Hastily, Blame pulled out, and rather less hastily, Guilt did too; Rimmer was distracted from his coughing fit by the stab of discomfort as Guilt's softening cock slid out, and a trickle of something thick and sticky followed it, seeping out of his stretched arsehole and dribbling down his leg. He groaned and hung his head, overcome with shame. He'd ended up in a disgraceful state – half-naked, on his hands and knees, with hologrammatic come dripping from his mouth and his rear... he'd _let_ them do this to him, he'd _enjoyed_ it, he'd thought about how much he would like it if _Lister_ did those things to him!

Something, somewhere (he wasn't sure if it was inside or outside him), went _whump_. Then...

“Hmm, looks like it worked,” said a voice which was not Blame's, or Guilt's.

Rimmer looked up in horror, and saw that Holly's face had appeared on the monitor. He looked down at himself in even greater horror, and saw, to his indescribable relief, that his appearance had reset itself to normal; his clothes were tidy and in their proper place, all traces of come were gone from his face, and – he looked around – the two hallucinations had, apparently, disappeared.

So, with all of that taken care of, he elected to take what seemed to be the most sensible course of action given the circumstances, and promptly fainted.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thursday**

Lister bounded down the corridor towards the sleeping quarters, singing at the top of his lungs. Man, he was feeling good.

He stopped mid-lyric when he skipped through the door and saw Rimmer bent over a book, frowning in what was probably no longer concentration. _Oh, here we go_ , he thought, his heart sinking, as he braced himself for the usual barrage of accusatory abuse.

“Oh, hey, Rimmer,” he began in his most amiable tone, hopeful despite all previous experience that he could smooth over the argument before it started. “Hope I didn't disturb you. D'you want me to head out again, if you're busy?”

To his surprise, when Rimmer raised his head, he didn't look angry; just, maybe, a little tired. “Don't worry about it,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I wasn't getting anywhere with this anyway.”

Lister was so taken aback he didn't know what to say. He stepped closer to his bunkmate, cautiously, trying to work out whether he was having a relapse. The book, he noticed, wasn't Ukrainian or Korean or anything of the sort; Rimmer, it seemed, was back on the astronavigation revision.

“So, you read Kochanski's diary, did you? I'm guessing it's good news,” Rimmer said, expressionlessly.

“Oh. Erm...” Lister wasn't used to being rendered speechless, especially not by Rimmer. He rubbed his neck. “Maybe I shouldn't talk about it. I know you didn't like her. I don't wanna bend your ear.”

Rimmer shrugged, the lids hanging heavy over his murky green eyes. “You can't help what you feel.”

This was too much. Lister grabbed a chair and swung it round, sitting in it backwards. “Rimmer, are you all right?”

“I'm...” Rimmer shook his head, and turned back to his book. “I'm fine.”

“Ahh,” Lister said triumphantly, “this is something to do with those hallucinations, isn't it? You finally got to see what it's like from the outside – all that blame, all that guilt.”

Rimmer heaved a sigh, and looked back up at his bunkmate. “Something like that, yes,” he replied stiffly.

“So you're trying to change. Hey, good on ya, man!” Lister exclaimed earnestly. “Hell, it'd be a weird experience for anyone, I bet, coming face-to-face with their own neuroses like that. It can't have been pretty.”

Rimmer twitched. “It certainly wasn't.”

“I hope it was okay, us leaving you with them. I dunno what smeg they were spouting while we were gone, but I hope it didn't scar you too much.” Lister laughed. Rimmer didn't. “At least it didn't take too long.”

“It took quite long enough,” Rimmer muttered.

Lister didn't notice the colour rising in Rimmer's cheeks; he was too enthused by the idea that thanks to his good advice, Rimmer was finally trying to get over his self-destructive habits. Maybe he was even better at dealing with him than he'd thought! “Seriously, man, I'm proud of you. I'm glad you've realised how unhealthy it is, having all of that blame and guilt burning away inside of you.”

There was a long pause; Rimmer stared at him. “Quite,” he finally managed, weakly.

“It's just not good for you, letting them fill you up like that,” Lister continued earnestly.

Rimmer was suddenly struck by a small coughing fit. But Lister was warming to his theme. “It must be horrible, being stuck between them,” he mused. “Being pushed back and forth from one to the other.”

Rimmer had, by now, recovered himself, and was looking at Lister with a pained expression in his wild eyes. “Oh, eh, sorry, man,” Lister suddenly exclaimed, seeing his mistake. “I didn't realise those hallucinations had had such an impact. Man, they must have really put the willies up you.”

Rimmer paled. Then he lurched up out of his chair so fast that his thighs passed through the table, and dashed out of the room.


End file.
